Barnhurst sank back in the chair, helpless as a child. For a moment his self-possession deserted him. His guilt was stamped upon his face.
"Here you can count three murders," continued Dermoyne, not seeming to notice the dismay of the minister,—"the murder of a woman's purity,—the murder of her body—the murder of her babe. Now, I don't pretend to say, that it would be right for me to kill the three fold murderer, but I do say, that, were I to meet him, and know his guilt, that my blood would boil,—my eyes would grow dim,—my hand would be extended, and in an instant, would hold his mangled skull, between the thumb and fingers."
Herman's arms dropped helplessly by his side. He was extended in the capacious chair, a vivid picture of helpless fright.
Dermoyne, whose broad chest and bold features, caught on one side the glow of the light, as he stood erect by the table, gazed upon the minister with a calm look, and continued—
"So, you see, I congratulate you, that you know nothing of the matter—"
"Oh, I am shocked, shocked," and Herman made out to cover his face with his hands, "I am shocked, at the vivid, viv-id," he stammered,—"vivid picture which you have drawn of the crimes of this seducer."
Dermoyne sank quietly into the chair on the opposite side of the table, and shaded his eyes with his right hand. He also was thinking.
For a long pause, there was profound stillness. The lamp on the table shed its luxurious light over the vast room, peopled as it was, with images of wealth, ease and voluptuousness, and upon the figures of these men, seated opposite to each other, and each with his eyes shaded by his hand.
At length, Herman recovering a portion of his self-possession, exclaimed without raising his hands from his face:
"I trust you will end this interview at once. You have given my nerves a severe shock. To-morrow,—to-morrow,—I will talk to you about the Van Huyden estate, about which, I presume, you asked this interview."